


The Assassination Of Baron Corbin’s Ego By The WWE Men's Tag Team Division

by sanidine



Category: WWE, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Kayfabe Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 18:31:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8633635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanidine/pseuds/sanidine
Summary: “I'm not afraid of anything. I just like being alone.” Baron said to Shane, vehement, as if by simply speaking the words with the correct amount of fervor he could convince the world that they were true. “And besides, they aren't stronger at all. I could defeat any of these tag teams by myself.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RobinTrigue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinTrigue/gifts).



> Listen, I am just going to lead with the fact that this is maybe the weirdest needle I have ever tried to thread. Mostly an attempt to base the entire writing style of a fic around a title (that may or may not actually be hilarious to anyone but me).
> 
> Are you all familiar with The Assassination Of Jesse James By The Coward Robert Ford? It is a great book/movie, to which I now owe SO MANY stylistic apologies

The winter of the year two thousand and sixteen found Baron Corbin well past the quarter of his life and moving into middle age. He was a man of tall stature, broad in the shoulders and with a silent way about him that meant that people were not eager to spend time in his presence. Although Baron’s hair had long since begun to take its leave of his head, he wore what remained long, stringy and to his shoulders, an affectation that was not improved by his affinity for leather vests and pants with too large an assortment of meaningless pouches. He was also the canvas for a number of distinct tattoos, the most peculiar of which was a Minion, although as this was located on his foot it was mercifully hidden from casual view.

Despite this image, Baron was a man altogether too inclined to consider his own importance. Moody, and without any good humor in regards to his own self, he was known most not for any particular physical skill but rather for his almost impressive lack of ability at making and retaining friends. He had been called a Lone Wolf often in his childhood and, failing to notice the mockery in the nickname, had adopted it not only as a moniker but also as a primary characteristic of his person.

Although he had achieved some minor accomplishments in his life he still felt as if he had not reached the high status  to which he was entitled. A trophy celebrating his victory in the Battle Royale to honor the memory of Andre the Giant was heretofore his greatest achievement although he had been a member of the main roster for nearly a year's time. The greatest insult, in Baron’s mind, came when he was scheduled to participate in the men's team representing Smackdown at Survivor Series.

There was no glory for him there, no great personal victory to be had in teamwork with his peers. Tag teams were for the weak, and Baron had made well known his belief that any person in one betrayed their lack of capability by depending on someone else, and Baron Corbin was not weak. He was the Lone Wolf, and he would not be made to participate in this lowering of his morals by the capricious whims of the Commissioner and General Manager.

“Is that what you're really most afraid of?” Shane McMahon asked him later, backstage “That you may have to set aside your petty grievances, to cooperate with another person and find greater strength in doing so?”

“I'm not afraid of anything. I just like being alone.” Baron said to Shane, vehement, as if by simply speaking the words with the correct amount of fervor he could convince the world that they were true. “And besides, they aren't stronger at all. I could defeat any of these tag teams by myself.”

Shane said “You know what? Fine. Do it, then.”

A handful of days passed without any events of note before Shane gave Baron the chance to announce his challenge to the tag team division; a live speech that was met with resounding boos from the audience, a reaction that Baron had long since learned to anticipate.

It was jealousy, he told himself, that dogged his heels at every turn. People were envious of Baron, of his abilities, but their disdain for him was accepted in the regular course of things; Baron did not care for the company of others and, in turn, did not care what they thought of him.

The Hype Bros were the first to challenge him. They accused him of not being hype, a statement with which no one could find fault, and made their way to the ring as they shouted, leapt in the air to the cheers of the fans, as colorful and shocking to behold as poison dart frogs but without any of the danger.

Baron had been acquainted with Zack and Mojo since his time in developmental and he knew them just about as well as he knew anyone which was, to say, in passing. Raucous and rowdy beyond all accounting, they startled bids from trees and and set the teeth of calmer people so tightly together that they were liable to crack from the grinding.

Zack had achieved some measure of success and notoriety in his day but those days were now behind him, and Baron considered Mojo to be as green as the grass. Both of them were capricious and dim, inclined more towards bright baubles than ferocity in the ring. As opponents Baron considered them to be a disappointment - given how easy it would be for Baron to tear them apart, he did not expect that many more challengers would step forward to position themselves es in the way of the Lone Wolf.

The bell rang to begin the match as The Hype Bros stood on the apron of the ring, tossed their sleeveless shirts out into the adoring crowd. Neither had yet stepped forward as Baron paced from side to side, an eager caged animal waiting to be loosed, waiting to prove that he alone could bring two men to ruin.

Even though the match had officially begun, Mojo each still held a microphone in his hand, and as Zack went to step over the ropes Mojo reached out and rested a hand upon his back, and Zack stepped back out, confused but attentive as to what could have

“Hey, bro...”

"Bro?”

“Before we get started, bro, I just wanted you to know...”

“Know what, bro?”

“I just noticed that backstage you wearing those pants I got you, bro. Those hammer pants. I just wanted you to know how much it means to me, bro. I know you don't like them but -”

“Bro. What are you talking about. I love those pants, bro.”

“Bro?”

“Yeah bro. I don’t wear them a lot because we get so hype, bro, and -”

“So hype!”

“So hype, bro! We get so hype and I don't want to ruin them. You know I treasure every gift you give me.”

“Bro. I treasure _you_ , bro!”

“Bro!”

“Just don't get me any dumb Minions stuff bro.”

“Oh, no way bro. Those things are the worst!”

Baron, overcome at the statement, did not realize that he had been counted out until he was halfway up the ramp, fists curled in impotent rage. He did not understand why he had abandoned the match, only that he had.

“They clearly had no intention of actually fighting me.” He would say later, ambushed by Tom Phillips “They must have known that the Lone Wolf would have torn their throats out. If anyone truly wants to take me up on my challenge they know where to find me.”

It was a statement that was not entirely true. Baron traveled alone between venues, long nights on dark roads with nothing but the stars and the cold wind for company. He roomed by himself, and was not one to make an effort to make himself available to others. He preferred it that way. As Baron had told Renée Young, he had always preferred silent solitude to the company of others.

Still, in the months that followed there were many more challengers and just as many of the same odd, unsatisfactory conclusions to Baron’s matches. However, Baron reasoned that the fault lay not with him but with his competitors; he could hardly be expected to stand and listen while the Usos rambled on about the importance of family or Breezango complemented one another on their fine outfits and fashion sense.

But Baron could not prove his greatness to Shane, could not make good on his high boasting, if no challenger of worth would face him. And who better to fight, he reasoned, than the current champions? They were probably too terrified to face him, so Baron set out to find Rhyno, sure that he would be able to incite Rhyno into fighting since he had once been betrayed by Baron.

Craft services was well known to be a treacherous place, loud and crowded, which was why Baron usually ate alone. He stood off to the side, looking for his quarry, but before he could make his way towards the table where Rhyno and Heath were sitting with a handful of Heath's children, Baron noticed that Rhyno was heading straight for him. Excellent. This would be even easier than he had foreseen, to incite this old rivalry and claim the tag team titles for himself.

“Oh, hey. Baron! I didn't know that you were on Smackdown.”

That brought Baron up short. “I've. Been here, since the draft.”

“Really? Sorry about that. I've been so busy with Heath and the kids, I just must not have noticed.”

“Well, you should have noticed.” Barn said, his voice a growl. “I've challenged all the tag teams on the roster.”

“Really? Who's your partner?”

“No partner. I'm doing it all by myself.

“Oh.” Rhyno said, and Baron could not account for why the man sounded suddenly sad. “You've never been on a tag team before, have you?”

“What are you talking about? You know that I have.”

“What?”

“We were on a tag team together once. In NXT.”

Rhyno rubbed at his chin, looking far away for a moment. “Were we?”

“Yes! We were even rivals for a time. You called our matches ‘intense’!”

“Haha, yeah. I mean. I don't remember, but that seems like a thing that could happen. This is a crazy industry isn't it.”

Baron realized with a start that he was beginning to feel increasingly desperate. He knew that those things had happened, the memories were sure in his mind, but Rhyno’s lack of fiery response left him feeling despondent. Had he really made so little of an impression on this man, had Baron’s betrayal been so minor that now Rhyno simply had no recollection of it? Impossible. If Rhyno was pretending, in an effort to incite Baron then the gambit was working - Baron would destroy him in the ring, would take the belts from Rhyno and Heath and prove once and for all that the Lone Wolf was-

“Could you move?” Rhyno said, interrupting Baron’s thoughts “I'm trying to get at that can of Cheez Whiz that's behind you.”

“Challenge me.” Baron said, as he stepped to the side, grudging, trying to make clear through his demeanor that he was doing Rhyno a favor. “Tonight?”

“What? Oh, um, okay. Just let me just talk to Heath and make sure he's good with it.”

It must have been terrible, Baron thought as Rhyno walked away, to have to account for the opinions of another person. He watched as Rhyno, laughing, spread cheese on crackers for Heath's bright-eyed children. Yes, that was it. Terrible.

And it must have been, for that night in the arena Heath and Rhyno’s music rang out but the men themselves did not appear. It was announced that they sent their regrets for being unable to attend the match, but one of Heath's children had a fever and needed to be comforted. Baron could see everyone, referee and timekeeper and audience members alike all nodding along - family was, after all, the most important thing. At least if you were one of the masses, not gifted with Baron’s ability to inspire awe wherever he went; Baron reasoned privately that Heath and Rhyno must have realized that losing the titles to him was inevitable and had simply come up with an excuse.

 

Baron was prepared to have to accept the fact that he would go unchallenged that evening, but before he could begin to celebrate his victory by default American Alpha appeared. It was clear in their faces that at first they were grudging, unhappy about having to face Baron, but as Chad and Jason made their way to the ring Baron could see the way that they began to inspire one another to excitement, something to which Baron could not relate. They were close, they cared for one another, and that was a weakness that could be exploited to Baron’s benefit.

American Alpha preened for the crowd once they were in the ring as Baron stalked back and forth in his corner, impatient for victory. Chad held out one of his towels, waved it in his face, and Baron went to snatch it away in anger. At the last second it was pulled out of his grasp, and Baron’s fingers barely brushed the fabric before his fist closed on nothing. The bell rang. The towel was thrown to Jason, standing in the opposite corner, who caught it in one hand without difficulty, already shouting even though the men in the ring had not yet even locked uo.

“Get him, Chad! You got this man, you're an inspiration! You're the best, you're -”

Baron surged forward to put Chad in a headlock, but at the last second Chad sidestepped him and put up a hand, palm out. Requesting that Baron wait as he turned back to his partner

“No, Jason, you're the best! You know you've got the number one back-to-belly in the industry. We're the best wrestlers on the planet, we're unstoppable together, I don't even know why they have us out here with -” Chad paused, just long enough to look up and down at the furious Baron before he turned back to his teammate “- with this guy.”

It was all too much to be borne, and Baron had long since been worn thin and made brittle by the repeated failures of his quest. Baron had begun to expect that he would never be acknowledged for his greatness, that he would be nothing more than a solitary target for verbal jabs for the rest of his days, and was therefore surprised when Shane approached him about a possible match at Wrestlemania.

“I've been talking to my sister.” Shane said. “And we think that you should face one of the teams from RAW. It would be an excellent chance for you to prove yourself.”

“Who?” Baron asked

Shane shrugged his shoulders, and Baron did not notice the sly look in his eyes when Shane said “It'll be a surprise. That is, if you think you can handle it.”

Wrestlemania 33 was to be held in Florida, a state of cursed and sucking swampland that themed with wild reptiles and was sweltering even in April. The arena seemed even hotter, packed with bodies who had filled the stands, booing in unison as Baron arrived. Still, Baron reasoned that they would not have been there at all if not for the opportunity to see him crush one of their precious tag teams. This, he hoped, would be the time that he could finally shine.

Then his opponents’ music began, and all of Baron’s hopes were shattered in one callous blow as The New Day entered the arena on shimmering steeds, their horns pointing at Baron as if in accusation.

“Why are you even fighting us wolf boy?” Xavier asked, as they faced off in the ring. He had dismounted his steed, but he still held his infernal instrument on his shoulder. “This isn't how you make friends! Didn't they ever teach you that in school? Kofi and E and I aren't ever gonna be your friends!”

“I don’t want you to be my friends.” Baron spit out “I'm happier without friends.”

It was as if a hush had fallen over all of Orlando. The New Day looked back and forth between one another, faces solemn, before they turned back to Baron

“Is that true?”

“Of course it is!” Baron seethed “I am the Lone Wolf. I need no one. I'm not here to make friends, I'm here to prove that I am the best!”

“Well.” Xavier said, trombone lowered slightly "I'm not happy without friends.”

Big E and Kofi nodded along, and Baron was taken aback by this admittance. They knew that they were weak! It would be so easy, now, for him to destroy them on the biggest stage of them all. But before Baron could lay hands on Xavier he continued

“I am thankful every day. Every day! That I have wonderful people like Kofi and Big E by my side. And all my other friends, like Bayley and Tyler, supporting me from backstage. I can't imagine what a sad, lonely existence you must have that makes you say you're happier on your own."

Baron staggered back into the turnbuckle, overcome. After a moment of hesitation Xavier stepped forward, holding his hand out in Baron’s direction, and for a golden moment Baron believed that Xavier would help him to his feet. And in that moment Baron thought that perhaps he would be able to rise up and overcome his own regrettable nature; that he would one day have a friend.

Then Xavier’s hand went to the slide of the trombone as he swung the instrument back up onto his shoulder, and the horn of it was as the shining muzzle of a gun as Xavier brought it to bear directly in front of Baron’s face to blast him with that mocking, deafening sound.

The referee, so moved by the display of brotherhood and camaraderie that followed as Xavier celebrated with his teammates, did not immediately notice that Baron had fallen to the mat and was tapping the canvas. The motion was weak, almost more of a convulsion than the forfeit of a match, and the referee noticed at once that Baron appeared terribly overcome as if Baron were afflicted by some rheum or high fever.

The timekeeper signaled the end of the match and The New Day were declared to be the winners by means of submission, although the announcer seemed rightfully confused that any match would end so quickly and without any type of physical confrontation. The victorious team embraced one another, leaping up and down in the center of the ring as they were overcome by their joy. This great display of exuberance caused the boards beneath the mat to shake, jostling Baron ever so slightly where he lay.

  
Paramedics were summoned to take stock of the scene, assure that no serious harm had caused Baron’s strange submission. But before any aid could arrive Baron rolled out of the ring and stalked back up the ramp, his face wet and red as he disappeared into the many halls and long corridors backstage.

**Author's Note:**

> Baron: rekt


End file.
